Christmas 2010Our dog, the amazing mood mirror, demonstrates our seasonal state of mind: festive, overtired and generally wired. We have spent extra time indoors, eating all sorts of things that don't grow in any garden, but thankfully a streak of beautiful weather and the dog's potential for general mayhem have lured us out for walks. The best way of appreciating the world is to get outside and breathe. The dog wants me to complete that statement with "and then chew something." Our neighbours are already bemused by my macro-photography: hours of prone posturing around the yard. I wonder how they'd handle my gnawing the apple tree. |
Dec. 22, 2010
I am GOING to Christmas shop, but then as I drive past the marsh I see a Great Blue Heron perched on a nest box set into a tiny island. I have a long list. Only one task is crossed off, but there are so many birds and -- SUNSHINE. I steer away from town and head for home and my camera. En route, I spot another heron preening on a gnarled tree. Mentally, I drop all time constraints.
Upon fetching my camera from the coffee table, I retrace my route, pull over and walk to the ideal vantage point. The empty tree seems to shrug its gnarly limbs at me and mutter, "Isn't that just the way of things?"
There is still one heron to catch, although I figure by now it has moved off the nest box. Maybe it's hunting. I park at the rest stop along the highway and scan the flats: three trumpeter swans-a-swimming. I snap a few pictures and check the grainy images. A thought that Santa might bring me a tricked-out professional camera zips through my head before bailing into the ditch. "Damn. I almost forgot the stockings." I have so much to do.
Deciding I might as well check if the heron stuck around, I hike to the other end of the rest stop where an older fellow stands next to his car taking pictures of the scenery. In the distance beyond the tumble-down fence, two herons stand around in their gumboots. I greet the man, tell him about the heron opportunity in the next pond and add, "I'm playing hookey from Christmas shopping."
He grins sheepishly and says, "Me too."
"Shall we check it out?" We brave the narrow stretch along the side of the highway until we see the empty nest box on the islet. A few Canada geese practice their John Wayne walks at water's edge. When they wade deep enough, they transform into ballerinas and glide across the pond.
The man and I walk back to the rest stop and stand together, snapping pictures and chatting about places we've been and birds we've seen. He tells me he once hiked around Uluru (Ayer's Rock) by himself while the rest of the people on the tour stayed at the interpretive center. When he returned, he was carrying some of his extra gear in a Wal-Mart bag that he had brought with him in case there was any litter. One of the tourists spotted the bag and got very excited: "There's a Wal-Mart? Where?"
The man answered, "Oh, yeah. Big one. Over on the far side of the Rock." There was a general excitement among the tourists as the news spread. They pestered the tour guide to make sure the bus made a stop at Wal-Mart before they moved on. The guide got quite irritated as she repeatedly assured them that they would be travelling all the way around the rock as part of their outing.
The fellow chuckles as he tells me how the anticipation on the bus rose as it rounded Uluru. Everyone was determined to be the first to spot the Wal-Mart. When they'd gotten three-quarters of the way around, he could barely contain his laughter. People were peering at the side of the road opposite to the ancient rock, among general murmurs of, "Are we getting close?" The tourist who originally spotted the Wal-Mart bag saw the fellow's expression and said, "You bugger!"
"Oh, they were mad," he says, "I guess I shouldn't have messed with something so sacred."
We laugh and lift our cameras as two swans circle to land nearby. After taking pictures in companionable silence, we pause to check our images. AlI mine are blurry. I frown and say, "It's hard to capture things clearly while they're moving so fast."
Upon fetching my camera from the coffee table, I retrace my route, pull over and walk to the ideal vantage point. The empty tree seems to shrug its gnarly limbs at me and mutter, "Isn't that just the way of things?"
There is still one heron to catch, although I figure by now it has moved off the nest box. Maybe it's hunting. I park at the rest stop along the highway and scan the flats: three trumpeter swans-a-swimming. I snap a few pictures and check the grainy images. A thought that Santa might bring me a tricked-out professional camera zips through my head before bailing into the ditch. "Damn. I almost forgot the stockings." I have so much to do.
Deciding I might as well check if the heron stuck around, I hike to the other end of the rest stop where an older fellow stands next to his car taking pictures of the scenery. In the distance beyond the tumble-down fence, two herons stand around in their gumboots. I greet the man, tell him about the heron opportunity in the next pond and add, "I'm playing hookey from Christmas shopping."
He grins sheepishly and says, "Me too."
"Shall we check it out?" We brave the narrow stretch along the side of the highway until we see the empty nest box on the islet. A few Canada geese practice their John Wayne walks at water's edge. When they wade deep enough, they transform into ballerinas and glide across the pond.
The man and I walk back to the rest stop and stand together, snapping pictures and chatting about places we've been and birds we've seen. He tells me he once hiked around Uluru (Ayer's Rock) by himself while the rest of the people on the tour stayed at the interpretive center. When he returned, he was carrying some of his extra gear in a Wal-Mart bag that he had brought with him in case there was any litter. One of the tourists spotted the bag and got very excited: "There's a Wal-Mart? Where?"
The man answered, "Oh, yeah. Big one. Over on the far side of the Rock." There was a general excitement among the tourists as the news spread. They pestered the tour guide to make sure the bus made a stop at Wal-Mart before they moved on. The guide got quite irritated as she repeatedly assured them that they would be travelling all the way around the rock as part of their outing.
The fellow chuckles as he tells me how the anticipation on the bus rose as it rounded Uluru. Everyone was determined to be the first to spot the Wal-Mart. When they'd gotten three-quarters of the way around, he could barely contain his laughter. People were peering at the side of the road opposite to the ancient rock, among general murmurs of, "Are we getting close?" The tourist who originally spotted the Wal-Mart bag saw the fellow's expression and said, "You bugger!"
"Oh, they were mad," he says, "I guess I shouldn't have messed with something so sacred."
We laugh and lift our cameras as two swans circle to land nearby. After taking pictures in companionable silence, we pause to check our images. AlI mine are blurry. I frown and say, "It's hard to capture things clearly while they're moving so fast."
Dec. 17, 2010
The frost fairies went to work on our car last night and beauty was created without effort from any human. If "natural" is so glorious, why do we try so hard to reach an imaginary level of success; wear our job titles like armour, and use our resulting money to surround ourselves in things that insulate us from rhythms that can, millimeter by millimeter, transform a plastic license plate holder into a fleeting masterpiece?
The quest for comfort drives us to seek more, but comfort is subjective. A tent and a sleeping bag are luxury after hiking through a storm. People are adaptable, for better or worse. A couple of times a year I spend a week in the wilderness, falling asleep to the symphony of wind in trees and waking with the birds. Upon my return home, I gratefully snuggle deep under my warm, dry duvet. The next morning, I wake up late, feeling as if someone has clamped earmuffs and blinders on me. No light turns my skin the sky blue of tent fabric. I hear the few birds with voices loud enough to penetrate the walls of our house and smile sadly. Then I shift focus to the comfortable foam mattress and sigh lazily.
Before long, I'm up and back to my usual routine. After a day or two I forget to listen for the morning birdsong. It's a nasty habit I have, shutting the door to the ambient world that is there for anyone who takes the time to sense it. Eventually I slip into sadness, and scramble to find the door and bust it open. Thankfully, nature goes on with or without my attention. Whether or not I saw the frost this morning, it would have been there and melted the instant the sun found it.
Still, as a gift to myself, I'd like to notice the ways in which the animals remain connected and in harmony with real life and allow my life to align with its own natural way. I plan to cultivate and nurture more plants that are native to our area. They resist drought, create shelter, and provide a food source for local wildlife without habituating them to humans or altering their natural feeding cycles. I will continue to take time to witness the tiny miracles that nature puts in my path each day and to appreciate the freedom and frequency with which these miracles occur.
The quest for comfort drives us to seek more, but comfort is subjective. A tent and a sleeping bag are luxury after hiking through a storm. People are adaptable, for better or worse. A couple of times a year I spend a week in the wilderness, falling asleep to the symphony of wind in trees and waking with the birds. Upon my return home, I gratefully snuggle deep under my warm, dry duvet. The next morning, I wake up late, feeling as if someone has clamped earmuffs and blinders on me. No light turns my skin the sky blue of tent fabric. I hear the few birds with voices loud enough to penetrate the walls of our house and smile sadly. Then I shift focus to the comfortable foam mattress and sigh lazily.
Before long, I'm up and back to my usual routine. After a day or two I forget to listen for the morning birdsong. It's a nasty habit I have, shutting the door to the ambient world that is there for anyone who takes the time to sense it. Eventually I slip into sadness, and scramble to find the door and bust it open. Thankfully, nature goes on with or without my attention. Whether or not I saw the frost this morning, it would have been there and melted the instant the sun found it.
Still, as a gift to myself, I'd like to notice the ways in which the animals remain connected and in harmony with real life and allow my life to align with its own natural way. I plan to cultivate and nurture more plants that are native to our area. They resist drought, create shelter, and provide a food source for local wildlife without habituating them to humans or altering their natural feeding cycles. I will continue to take time to witness the tiny miracles that nature puts in my path each day and to appreciate the freedom and frequency with which these miracles occur.
Dec. 6, 2010
Oct. 24, 2010 When autumn reaches its zenith, the windstorm comes. It starts with a steady breeze, transforming the picture in the window to Swirling Leaves, which is nearly as difficult to break away from as Burning Log.
The breeze tucks purple clouds into the valleys. The clouds call for bedtime stories and the sky takes a deep breath and gusts the leaves into epic tales danced across many layers of air. The trees bend and spring back as weight lifts from their branches. As the stories settle to an end, the clouds whine that they weren't as long or as exciting as they were last year. The sky flashes, the wind shakes more leaves from the trees to join the ones that rise from the ground and loom at the clouds until they squeal, "Enough!" and pull the covers over their heads. The wind screams around them and they start to cry, their tears pelting the leaves and pinning them to the earth. The sky eventually notices water pouring across pavement and roof. She flickers contrition, smoothes the covers over the ragged clouds and rumbles a lullaby across the mountains. |
October 18, 2010
There is evidence all over the valley of the selfless service done by
local pollinators. Plump apples, tomatoes, and pumpkins are revealed
as their leaves secede. Birds, raccoons, squirrels and deer plan their
days around the most abundant feeding grounds.
Harvest trumps all other forms of entertainment. It is a tangible
connection to the mysterious, autonomous life of our planet. I asked
my son to help me dig the last of our potatoes for a stew. He followed
me outside, grabbed the garden fork and with his first effort, turned up three
heart-sized russets. He dropped them into a stainless steel mixing bowl then
said, "Oh, wait a second."
I looked up from weeding. He was pulling off his shoes and socks.
When he stepped back into the garden, he smiled, sighed and wiggled
his toes through the soil. "This can be my job every year, okay?"
"As long as I can have a turn once in a while. It's like finding treasure
when potatoes pop out of the ground, isn't it?"
"This IS treasure, Mom." The bowl rang as it caught the tiny Yukon Golds
rolling off his palms.
local pollinators. Plump apples, tomatoes, and pumpkins are revealed
as their leaves secede. Birds, raccoons, squirrels and deer plan their
days around the most abundant feeding grounds.
Harvest trumps all other forms of entertainment. It is a tangible
connection to the mysterious, autonomous life of our planet. I asked
my son to help me dig the last of our potatoes for a stew. He followed
me outside, grabbed the garden fork and with his first effort, turned up three
heart-sized russets. He dropped them into a stainless steel mixing bowl then
said, "Oh, wait a second."
I looked up from weeding. He was pulling off his shoes and socks.
When he stepped back into the garden, he smiled, sighed and wiggled
his toes through the soil. "This can be my job every year, okay?"
"As long as I can have a turn once in a while. It's like finding treasure
when potatoes pop out of the ground, isn't it?"
"This IS treasure, Mom." The bowl rang as it caught the tiny Yukon Golds
rolling off his palms.
Sept. 27, 2010
A side effect to growing many sunflowers
is that I spend time staring at bees. Honeybees
are a miracle of light and sound. Translucent
golden bodies dot the dark brown center of
each sunflower. At any moment, a shimmer of
wings preludes the hum that seems to lift the bee
as much as the mechanics of flight. Transient
wasps and wild bees add harmonies to the
melody of natural industry.
I joined a choir this week. One bee
may hum divinely, but it can never create
the sweetness of many.
is that I spend time staring at bees. Honeybees
are a miracle of light and sound. Translucent
golden bodies dot the dark brown center of
each sunflower. At any moment, a shimmer of
wings preludes the hum that seems to lift the bee
as much as the mechanics of flight. Transient
wasps and wild bees add harmonies to the
melody of natural industry.
I joined a choir this week. One bee
may hum divinely, but it can never create
the sweetness of many.
Sept. 17, 2010
I grew more than sunflowers this first year of my garden. With the cool, damp spring, the pea plants produced many succulent feeds. My two strawberry plants bore fruit and tossed off a few new plants that also put out berries for the robins and I to take turns eating. The carrots were stubby but delicious. One small beet found its way into our dinner as did several potatoes, wax beans, lettuce, and zucchinis. We shared three plump, sweet little cucumbers, a handful of tart blackberries, and eight tiny ears of corn.
The curly kale was tasty before the aphids took over (or at least as tasty as possible for kale). I left two plants in, hoping they will distract the pests from my still-developing brussels sprouts. I haven’t checked on the cauliflower and broccoli, but the tomatoes are lying around on their vines, the big ones green as St. Patrick, the little ones displaying gradations of red.
A garter snake summered in the garden. It was shy. My main interaction with it was watching it slither away after I blundered into its basking spot with either shoe or hose. I also found on separate occasions, tree frogs nestled on sunflower leaves. One was plump and primarily gold. The other, leaf-green, was about the size of a toonie. We’ve seen that one several times and named it Waldo, because it’s usually on different plants, visible from the bay window in our dining room, and it takes us a while to search it out.
Thanks to the pollination of an Anna’s hummingbird and a few stalwart hoverflies, the scarlet runner beans are still producing juicy foot-long snacks with which to supplement our meals. The hummingbird is a little confused by the sudden interest in the garden from a flock of chickadees, finches, and one very direct nuthatch who scatters any bird that gets between it and its quarry of one sunflower seed, which it immediately flies off to hide. The hummingbird made a half-hearted attempt to chase them off, then sampled a few fresh sunflowers before going back to the beans. When the other birds didn’t interfere with its business, the hummingbird sat and watched them, a miniature naturalist, far from the seedheads.
The curly kale was tasty before the aphids took over (or at least as tasty as possible for kale). I left two plants in, hoping they will distract the pests from my still-developing brussels sprouts. I haven’t checked on the cauliflower and broccoli, but the tomatoes are lying around on their vines, the big ones green as St. Patrick, the little ones displaying gradations of red.
A garter snake summered in the garden. It was shy. My main interaction with it was watching it slither away after I blundered into its basking spot with either shoe or hose. I also found on separate occasions, tree frogs nestled on sunflower leaves. One was plump and primarily gold. The other, leaf-green, was about the size of a toonie. We’ve seen that one several times and named it Waldo, because it’s usually on different plants, visible from the bay window in our dining room, and it takes us a while to search it out.
Thanks to the pollination of an Anna’s hummingbird and a few stalwart hoverflies, the scarlet runner beans are still producing juicy foot-long snacks with which to supplement our meals. The hummingbird is a little confused by the sudden interest in the garden from a flock of chickadees, finches, and one very direct nuthatch who scatters any bird that gets between it and its quarry of one sunflower seed, which it immediately flies off to hide. The hummingbird made a half-hearted attempt to chase them off, then sampled a few fresh sunflowers before going back to the beans. When the other birds didn’t interfere with its business, the hummingbird sat and watched them, a miniature naturalist, far from the seedheads.
Sept. 10, 2010
Since getting a dog in May, I've engaged with the world that exists between yard and wilderness.
My favourite walk is through the feral fringes of a local farm. It was there today that I noticed the season
change. With the speed of a slug crossing a trail, the green gave up the leaves. It eased from
gleaming to flat green then surrendered to yellow green by the time we turned for home.
On that same path beside the fence a few months ago I realized summer through the languorous scent
of clover and wild chamomile. Today it smelled dry with the odd burst of blackberry. I now see how
following the same path regularly allows me to tap into the rhythms of nature. Cycles bring comfort,
not boredom; especially with the countless variations possible within any framework.
Canine companionship is one of the great variations. There are minutes, maybe hours, along the trail
when my dog and I are so in tune that my senses heighten and she shadows me as if the leash doesn't
exist. Rocks, ferns and trees flow past like air. If I breathed in suddenly, perhaps they'd all disappear and
I would carry the forest inside me like a seed.
My favourite walk is through the feral fringes of a local farm. It was there today that I noticed the season
change. With the speed of a slug crossing a trail, the green gave up the leaves. It eased from
gleaming to flat green then surrendered to yellow green by the time we turned for home.
On that same path beside the fence a few months ago I realized summer through the languorous scent
of clover and wild chamomile. Today it smelled dry with the odd burst of blackberry. I now see how
following the same path regularly allows me to tap into the rhythms of nature. Cycles bring comfort,
not boredom; especially with the countless variations possible within any framework.
Canine companionship is one of the great variations. There are minutes, maybe hours, along the trail
when my dog and I are so in tune that my senses heighten and she shadows me as if the leash doesn't
exist. Rocks, ferns and trees flow past like air. If I breathed in suddenly, perhaps they'd all disappear and
I would carry the forest inside me like a seed.
Sept. 3, 2010 In the sunflower forest that doubles as my veggie garden, I discover a large band-aid lying on the overgrown path. Here is evidence that my kids have recently raided the plants for scarlet runner beans and strawberries.
I smile and pick up the plaster with an intention to dispose it. Two ants are on the tacky portion. The bigger one has its head and a front leg free and gingerly tries to unstick itself. The little one is immobile, glued from head to abdomen. Had they been caught in tree sap, my imagination would have leapt millennia to consider the beauty they'd contribute to amber. I might have walked on. However, there is no romance in being trucked to a landfill. I pluck a piece of dry grass beside the garden gate and set to my task. Scraping the tape nearest the larger ant, I work the straw beneath its hind leg. The glue, warm from afternoon sun, stretches like spider silk as the leg pries away, thankfully still attached to the ant. When the next leg frees, the ant regains the use of its right side. It grips the straw and helps to liberate its three other legs. Then it drops into the garden and trundles off. It takes a slender stick to work on the little ant. I ease the flat end beneath its head and push the glue away. With a twitch of an antenna, life declares itself. When the ant's head lifts clear, I work on the thorax. Each part that is freed struggles and gets stuck again, so much like my writer-self. The ant measures its progress from belly-down to belly-up. Frustrated, I slide it off the edge of the plaster and clean away as much glue as possible before it kicks free of my palm. It falls through clover leaves and neither of us bothers the other again. |
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August 28, 2010
Why has it taken two months to begin this blog? Two things: fear and the "delete" button. They work so efficiently together, who am I to mess with that kind of symbiosis? Yet, if I believe in the right of every individual to expression, then who am I to censor myself any longer? Thoughts flow better when expressed, whether through writing or the wonders of a great conversation. I hope to play with thoughts through this medium and somewhere along the way, forget to criticize them and maybe even gain some perspective on life.